


You're the Swing Set

by Pixie (magnetgirl)



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cornwell-Lorca Kids, F/M, Not Mirror Lorca, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Time Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-02-10 04:40:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12904272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetgirl/pseuds/Pixie
Summary: Returned from traveling across alternate timelines, Gabriel finds home has changed, too.





	1. Home, part one

She's waiting for him in the hall. He'd anticipated it. Hoped for it. But now he's presented with the reality of her, here, he very nearly flinches. Even wants to shy away. Time moved differently for them. It's been months for him, maybe six, seven… nine at most, and back and forth. For her, and everyone else in their home space, it's been five or six times that, in a row.

She looks the same. Same bright eyes and toothy smile that first drew his attention all those years ago. But then so did all the copies. He presses his lips, forces the thought away. He needs to focus. He needs to trust.

"You did well in there."

It had been the first in person debriefing. He'd asked to do it alone, let the crew settle back into their proper time and space and lives before they're required to relive it all. She'd tried to get the same courtesy extended to him, but Starfleet wouldn't listen. They needed to know.

But she hadn't complimented him for the sake of an opening -- or maybe she did but it isn't a lie. He'd given every answer with conviction. Maybe he needed to tell the story as much as they needed to hear it.

"You went easy," he answers.

Her expression softens, a smile tugs at her lips. "Disappointed?"

He is, honestly. And caught off guard. He shrugs, still feeling strangely tentative. The confidence he exuded in the meeting, addressing the entire Admiralty and a handful of representatives of the Federation and its allies, has abandoned him in this hallway, empty except for his oldest friend.

"Do you have some time?"

He meets her eyes, searching his. He imagines she's trying to reconcile this Gabriel with the one she lost. But when did she lose him? When did this hesitancy begin? Before he dove through the looking glass.

He wants to tell her he's better now. To tell her he's sorry. He wants to tell her everything. Everything he saw, everything he did, everything he wants. He also wants to run away.

He nods.

"Walk with me."

She starts down the hall. After a moment, he follows.

The first minutes, they walk in awkward silence. The tension is familiar to Gabriel. He'd been dealing with it for months, interacting with others who were her and not her at once. And now she's her and not her, too. Familiar but not comfortable.

"I missed you," he murmurs. A confession almost too quiet for her to hear. But she did hear, he sees it in her jaw, clenched just too tight, and the way her fingers flutter at her side. He's said it before, a thousand times. To flirt, to ruffle, to tease, and every so often to remind. But not like this. Not like a truth burning behind his eyelids no matter how he tries, even now, to hide from the light.

"I tried not to," she responds, her voice deceptively light. She's holding back, too. "At first."

He flashes her a look. That look, the one he reserves just for her. To draw her out, to calm her down, to remind her who they are. The one that somehow promises both danger and safety. She did miss that.

"What changed?"

She turns away. "You were gone a long time."

He wonders what it means. Long enough? But to what -- forgive? Forget? Move on?

To miss him.

Now his fingers flutter. He wants to reach for her, but she's still too far away. Weird to think her disappointment is what he craves.

They turn a corner and he realizes the building is unfamiliar, too.

"Where are we going?"

She comes to a stop. "Playground."

Gabriel frowns. He didn't know Starfleet Command had a playground. But there it is, two floors down from where they stand, the chatter of children drifting up. Kat leans over the ledge, eyes scanning the crowd. She gestures.

"There."

He peers at the child she's pointed out. A little girl, dressed in blue, brown hair with yellow barrettes. As they watch she looks up to the sky and her face briefly fills the security shield over the park. She's a mini Katrina.

"You have a daughter…?" He shakes his head. Starts to panic. This is all wrong. Again. Still. Starfleet doesn't have a playground. Katrina doesn't have a child. Stamets was wrong, the ship was wrong. They're still lost, they must be. The stars had been lying to him for months, they are lying still.

"Gabriel, breathe."

He shuts his eyes. No. We are home. We did everything right. We chose not to attempt another jump back to the correct time. Because we are home and we didn't want to get lost again. _We are home_.

" _Gabriel_." 

Her voice cuts through the fog of his anxiety. His eyes shoot open. Hers are full of concern. He doesn't like it.  

"You have a daughter?" he asks again. Over the years people -- people with children -- had told him he was the reason she didn't find someone to love, to start a family with. But he never believed it. He knows better, he knows her. Even the shades of her he'd encountered… he understood them better than this. This idea that he was wrong, that he  _had_ been in the way. If, as seems apparent, she'd settled down the moment he was gone.

She pulls her lips in over her teeth, watches these thoughts spread across his face. He's confused, scared, hurt. She takes a deep breath.

" _We_ have a daughter."

His eyes go wide as the words coalesce into understanding. He shakes slightly, almost stumbles. She grabs his hand. To steady, to ground. He opens his mouth but he can't speak. She barrels ahead.

"Her name is Andromeda. She's three."

_Her name is Andromeda. She's three._

"We can go as slow as you want." Her hands tightens on his, the tug repudiating her deliberately calm, comforting, clinical, voice. "You don't have to meet her right away. I don't have to tell her … who you are right away. She's three," she repeats.

 _Three._ Would she know, could she care? Kat's still talking.

"Or at all if you... If that's what you decide."

 _Decide. Decide._ There's a shudder beneath her soothing tone. She's not as detached as she wants to appear.

"And you can take as long as you need to decide..." _Decide._ "We're used to being just us, I mean--"

"Kat." She stops mid-phrase, her eyes dart to his. "Don't handle me." It sounds harsher than he means it and he sees her flinch. A heavy silence grows between them. Her hands still hold his tight.

"I know it's a lot." Her voice is barely above a whisper. "I thought about waiting but it seemed wrong."

His eyes search her face, upturned to his, lips parted, eyes a storm of undisclosed emotions. Swinging in uncertainty. He flashes back to the last time he'd seen her. The real her. In the hanger. She'd had the same expression.

_Decide._

She's had to make all these decisions without him. Without anyone. He knows her. Knows when she makes a decision it's done, and then he comes to mess it all up again. She likes that about him, he knows that, too, but now there's a child involved. _A child_.

He tugs, pulls her close, feels her tension slowly release as his arms draw her in. She collapses into his embrace, fits against his body. Familiar. And comfortable. And real. He kisses the top of her head.

They remain there a long while, fixed together in place and time, the laughter of children wafting from below.


	2. Home, part two

It's a new apartment.  The layout is similar -- Fleet Housing is pretty cookie cutter -- but instead of one bedroom, now there are three. Andromeda's is decorated with a space theme in swirling blues and purples, starships flying by on the walls.  Gabriel wanders slowly, identifying the ships, touching a blanket, a plush toy. He picks up a holocube, activates a slideshow of pictures, Andromeda birth to present. He pauses on one, Katrina and Andromeda together. Their smiles are the same. He wonders who took the holo.

"She's beautiful."

Kat nods with a smile. Gabriel shuts off the cube and replaces it on the dresser.

"I'm going to call her Andie."

She blinks. "What?"

"Andromeda is…." His eyes flicker to the ceiling, the galaxy spiraling slowly. As he glances back a streaking meteor lights up her cheek. "….a wonderful name." He grins at the look in her eyes. "But too big for such a little girl."

She shakes her head, but a smile tugs at her lips.

Gabriel's eyes move to the wall, the image of a ship. His ship. He walks closer.

"What does she know?"

She moves beside him. "About you? Nothing."

His chin trembles. "About her father."

She raises her eyes. "Nothing." Andromeda is too young to wonder. And she didn't know what to say. 

Gabriel nods. He wants to ask who does know, what they know. What they think. He's also afraid to hear. 

Katrina sees all of it flash across his face. She takes a breath. 

"Afsaneh was very helpful through the pregnancy and birth." He nods. They've known her since the Academy. "I..." Another breath. "I closed the birth record." She's a Flag Officer affiliated with Starfleet Medical, she only needed two others to sign off. 

"With the disappearance … it would have been classified anyway, and I didn't want …."

Katrina pulls her lips in over her teeth. Andromeda was born barely to term. Discovery had been missing for months. The theory -- eventually confirmed -- was it had jumped to an alternate universe. Command was tracking them, or at least attempting to. Kat did everything she could to ensure her daughter wasn't caught up in it. Any office engages in rumors but no one had much time to spend on the mystery of Andromeda's father, or prove a pet theory. 

Gabriel nods. He wouldn't want Andie -- or her mother -- tied up in Starfleet's drama either. 

"When… when all this ….." she waves her hands, "...surrounding Discovery is…" She raises her eyes, tries to read his expression. "When things are more … settled…."

He takes her hands, presses gently. 

"I understand, Kat."

She holds his look, wants to say more, but finally just nods. 

 

Gabriel waits while she picks Andromeda up from preschool. He paces nervously around the space. They've been meeting for a little over a week, observed her at the playground, in school. Spoke with one of Katrina's colleagues, a specialist in child psychology, and he'd encouraged Kat to talk with Andromeda first, to slowly introduce the concept of ‘your father’. How he was gone, but now he's home. Wants to see her. Wants to know her. Then they'd all met again to discuss the child's reaction, and heartened, set up this meeting. The doctor had wanted to be here, and wanted to involve the school, but Kat chose to do it alone. Gabriel is grateful. He doesn't need an audience. 

He hears them in the hall and stops pacing. Sits. Stands. Moves out of the line of sight of the door. It opens and they enter. No glass between them, sharing the same air. She's never been so close. 

And then she's there. Peering at him with wide eyes from behind her mother's legs.

"Hello."

The little girl watches him. After a moment, Kat reaches back to take her hand and move her forward. Gabriel kneels down to her level. 

"Hello, Andromeda."

"Hello," she echoes, shyly. He glances up to meet her mother’s gaze. Katrina nods encouragingly.

"I'm…"

He swallows. 

"I'm your dad."

 

Three weeks later he moves in. 

"Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't."

The third bedroom is small, sparsely furnished, and currently being used for storage. He'd considered asking, but hadn't wanted to be rejected. 

"Thank you," he murmurs. 

She waves a hand. As if it's nothing, when they both know it's everything. He shakes his head. 

"Two rules."

"Only two?" he asks, a familiar, and vaguely dangerous, lilt to his voice. She meets his eyes.

"Three rules."

He grins. It scares and calms her at once. "Go on."

She raises a finger. "Respect personal space. This room is yours. My bedroom is mine."

He nods. She raises a second finger.

"No weapons."

Gabriel’s gaze, and mood, falters. Katrina lifts her chin. 

"I promise we're safe. You have to trust me."

He nods, again, and she mirrors it. 

They haven't spoken of… well, they haven't spoken of any of the many things they should speak of. They've been focused on their daughter. Which is how it should be. But also convenient for avoiding all those messy conversations. 

"What's three?"

"Additional rules can be added at any time."

He gives her a small smile.

"By either of us," she adds, quiet, with a smile of her own.

She picks up a box of miscellaneous odds and ends that had ended up in her spare room. He takes a seat on the bed. 

"Are you  _ sure _ ?" he asks, again, as she's crossing the door. She pauses.

She called it a home office, so she wouldn't have to leave her baby. But she never removed the bed, and she used the main room for work. She likes the window. But it's an excuse.

"It's your room," she asserts. "It always has been."

 

She wakes to the noise of terror. No words, barely sounds, but it's a fear that cuts to the bone. She feels cold, pulls the blanket around herself as she rushes out of the room. A quick glance tells her Andromeda is safely asleep and she slips into Gabriel's room. 

He's thrashing on the bed, staring wild-eyed at nothing. Mumbling, mostly gibberish, some words. Home. Stop. Lies. No, repeatedly. And her name. 

She climbs next to him, corrals his shoulders. 

"Gabriel!" She repeats the name again and again. Clear and crisp, but not unkind and only loud enough to get his attention. Finally, he goes quiet at her touch. Blinks at his name. "Gabriel, look at me."

Slowly, he lowers his eyes to meet hers. Blinks again, the wildness starts to fade, replaced with hesitation. But recognition. 

"You're safe," she tells him. "You're home."

"Home," he echoes in a harsh whisper.

"Home," she agrees, pressing his shoulders. He watches her dark hair fall forward over her eyes. His breathing calms. 

A long moment passes. She lets go, falls back to sit on the bed, her own shoulders slumping with the release of tension. 

"I'm sorry." A whisper. Nothing like the man she knows. Knew.

She shakes her head. This is no reason to be sorry. 

"How often?"

He shrugs. "They gave me…" He gestures to the bedside table. She presses the door open, picks up a pale green vial and reads the label. One of the stronger sedatives available for home use. "I don't like to take it."

She glances back, waiting. 

"I don't want to wake up somewhere else," he explains, in a hushed, fearful, tone. "Someone else."

It's still difficult to believe any of this is real. He worries it may never feel real again. 

She places a hand gently over his. He grasps it, tightly, like a lifeline. 

"Do you want to talk?"

He does and he doesn't. He's talking about it, recording all his experiences for Starfleet, discussing the impact with Medical. He knows she's privy to some of it. Maybe all of it. She'd be a good person to talk to. But he wants to keep this oasis. He wants to save her from the worst of it, even if it goes against her instincts or her wishes.

"I don't know what to say."

"What did you see?" she tries. Sometimes it's easier to answer questions.

His eyes are haunted. "Too much."

Kat nods. She won't push. She gives his hand a squeeze, lets go, and shifts to pick up the hypospray and drop the sedative inside. "You need sleep," she says, in a tone he recognizes as an order, if more from the doctor or mother than admiral. She watches, waits for a response. He nods, lets her help him lie back. 

"I'll be here when you wake up," she tells him as she presses the hypo to his neck. 

"Here?"

"Right here," she promises, and he closes his eyes. 

 

Slowly, they build a routine. 

Discovery is being taken apart and studied, piece by piece. Her crew debriefed and -- temporarily -- allegedly -- reassigned. Except for the core scientists and engineers. And her captain.

He spends his days in seemingly endless meetings --  _ Welcome to my life _ , Kat quips when he complains -- that don't make it any easier to fall asleep. But the routine helps. Bringing Andie to and from school. Visiting the playground, the beach, the park, the animal conservancy. Family meals. Putting his little girl to bed. 

He reads her a story, tucks the blanket around her chin, brushes his lips to her forehead. "Good night, kitten."

If this isn't real, he doesn't want to know.

"I want to stay."

Katrina looks up from her work. "Stay?"

He crosses the room, eyes out the window, the city lights mingling with stars. 

"Here." He turns to meet her eyes. "On Earth."

"Gabriel…."

"I mean it," he asserts. 

"I know." She looks away, and back again. Sets aside the report and stands to join him at the window. "But it could pass."

_ Don't make significant life decisions in the first six to nine months after a traumatic event. _

"I don't want it to," he tells her.

She takes his hand. 

"You're on leave for six months. Take it. You don't need to decide anything right now."

He frowns. He never did like being told to wait.

"Trust me." The frown remains. She tugs on his hand, leads him back to the sofa.

"Sit." He acquiesces. Still frowning. "Talk to me."

"I don't want…"  _ to get lost " _ ...to lose this." He looks away. Closes his eyes. "I don't know who I'd become out there."

"Gabriel…"

"Kat." His voice breaks. She takes a deep breath.

"I'm pleased and grateful and … I'm happy you're home, and here, with us."

He looks back, his fear plain. 

"But I need you to understand something. Andromeda can't be… you can't use her to hold you here, to keep you from getting lost." She glances to the stars through the window. "Out there or in here." It's a lesson she had to learn herself. "She's a child. She can't be responsible for your recovery. She's not an anchor."

They are silent a moment, a long moment, watching each other watch the stars. Quiet music drifts in from Andromeda's room. Finally, Gabriel nods, and Katrina mirrors it. 

"Can," he murmurs, "...you..."

He meets her eyes. She's always been his anchor.

"I will get whatever help you think I need. But I need… I need…. I need you, too."

Her eyes are a storm.  _ She can't be responsible for your recovery.  _

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and falls forward into her arms. "I'm not who I should be."

She kisses his hair. "I know who you are. And I want you here."


End file.
